Forever Yours
by NCCJFAN
Summary: One more spin on the finale and rumored spoilers for season six. What if "eventually" doesn't take a year? What if it takes longer?
1. Cherry Blossoms

**First of all, it's been a long time since I've updated anything but my Facebook, much less written any fanfiction. Second, maybe I'm in the minority, but I thought the season five finale was perfectly delicious. A kiss? No way. Every time those two have kissed, it's either been a circus-freak sideshow or a complete disaster. Instead we're offered this wonderful year for both of our protagonists to discover themselves before they discover each other. What is it that they both really want?**

**And maybe I'm in the minority here, too, but I don't think what either of them really wants is to jump each others bones when they see each other in 365 days. What they're doing – both professionally and personally – is serious business. A **_**year**_** is serious business. It should be enough time for them to figure each other and themselves out.**

**Maybe.**

**Thirdly, this story is told in first person, from Brennan's point of view. This is a stretch for me. I don't think I've ever written a fanfic in first person, and I rarely write from a woman's point of view. My stories are nearly always told from a male's perspective or at the least my writing tends to have testosterone overtones. **

**To me, Brennan is a fascinating character. She's a rational, logical scientist. That's a true fact and can't be disputed. But I also think that's a mask she chooses to hide behind, and not just to avoid emotional hurt. Her catch phrase, "I don't know what that means"? I think she understands exactly what's going on at least 40 percent of the time she offers up that excuse. She just wants to hear your explanation. Brennan is also a New York Times best-selling author. You can't forget that fact. So while she may have trouble verbalizing her emotions, I'm sure she has little trouble **_**thinking or feeling **_** them. I thought to tell this story from her first person perspective…what thoughts are rattling around in her head…would be interesting. What goes on in her head may be very different than what comes out of her mouth. And that little trip around the sun that she's putting between herself and Booth may be the perfect opportunity for her to learn to open her mouth and let what's really going on between her ears trip over her tongue in plain English.**

**The usual disclaimers apply. I don't own Bones. Even if I did, I don't think I would have changed the season finale. However, if one or both of these star-crossed lovers come back with new significant others in season six, I'm staging a takeover outside Hart's office. Care to join?**

**Cherry Blossoms**

**May 2011**

Chapter One

Most people would call this a perfect spring day in Washington, DC. It's warm and there's that slight rise of humidity in the air that warns summer and her storms are on the way. It's hot enough to be hazy, but not uncomfortable yet. The cherry blossoms are long gone. In a way, that makes me sad. I hate the tourist traffic that always surrounds the National Mall, but every spring, I can't help but find myself admiring the pink blooms along with everyone else in DC. This is the second year I've missed those damn flowers. Last year I was too wrapped up in the Gravedigger trial to even notice them. I slowly circle the Mall, weaving in and out of the tourists and locals that are lining up for coffee at the coffee cart. There's an empty bench off to the side and I sit.

I sit and I wait. It's been a year. A year since he flew off to Afghanistan to train snipers and I flew off to the Maluku Islands. He left to go train soldiers to be better snipers. Teach them how to survive. Increase their odds of staying alive in combat.

I left to get away from it all. I told everyone it was the dig that was pulling me away from the Jeffersonian and them. These discoveries were too important, too valuable for me to sit on the sidelines and watch as another anthropologist directed the site. And yes, the dig _was_ important. No doubt about it. But that wasn't the real reason I left. I'd already made my name in the field of anthropology. If I never set foot in another site, my fame in the field was already secure. The real reason I left was to get away.

Away from the murders and cases. Away from the trials and the precarious Lady Justice who isn't always blind or just. And I found that the Maluku dig offered all that and more. There was sporadic internet service. Cell phone signal was even more sporadic. I was literally at the end of the earth and away from it all. Away from everything except him – Booth. And the memories that I carried in my mind and my metaphorical heart for the man. Memories too big to get away from and far too large to compartmentalize.

So now I sit and wait and watch for the man, who for the past twelve months was thousands of miles away from me, yet I could feel him with every breath I took. Saw him around every corner. Felt him every time a co-worker accidentally brushed up against me. I arrived back in DC early this morning or late last night. My mind really wasn't sure and neither was my body. They were both still on Maluku time. My eyes, however, are on full alert, scanning the crowds for a tall, brown-haired, broad-shouldered solder. He'd be tired, I mused. Tired from all the army training and then the flights home. I was sure he'd have to go through some kind of debriefing. I didn't know exactly. We had no regular contact during the past 365 days, given my phone and internet situation, and the fact that sometimes what he was doing was highly classified and he couldn't contact me.

I'm just about to get my own coffee and sit back down again when I spot him, coming up the sidewalk to the coffee cart. Still tall. Still breathtakingly handsome. Still broad shouldered, but looking weary and a little older than he was a year ago. He sees me and to my delight, that crooked grin stretches across his face and I find my own expression matching his. "Bones!" he calls.

There are some moments in life that you know are in slow motion. The whole world spins at a lower speed and it seems like it takes forever for something to happen. This was one of those moments. It took Booth years to make it to my spot beside the coffee cart.

"You remembered," he says.

"As if I'd forget," I tell him, not knowing really whether to smile or laugh or maybe even cry.

"Ah, Bones."

And then he does it. He does what I had been longing for since I set foot on that muddy dig. He hugs me. Not a guy hug, but a tight-I-missed-you-like-hell hug and we stay that way until the people around us start staring.

"Bones, you are a sight for sore eyes," he finally pulls back and tells me. "You…you cut your hair…" He stops then and looks at me long and hard. "But you know, I like it. You look nice with bangs."

"And you," I begin and then sigh. "You…you look tired, Booth."

He shrugs and looks away for a split second. "I'm okay. Just glad to be home." His eyes catch mine again. "Look, Bones…there are some things we need to talk about…"

I nod. We had both promised each other we would talk again when we both returned to the states. So much had been left unsaid when we both left. Too much left unsaid and too many emotions tapped down. "I know," I tell him. But I can tell he's distracted, looking over my left shoulder at something. "What is it?" I ask, half turning to see what he's looking at. And then I realize what "thing" we needed to talk about.

She was petite. Shorter than me. Maybe about five foot two. Auburn hair. Big green eyes. A light dusting of faint freckles across her nose. No doubt a byproduct of the harsh Afghan sun. And young. Younger than me and dressed in army camo.

There are other moments in time when you think your heart stops beating. It doesn't, of course. Not really. You know the muscle is still working because you're still standing and your braining is working a million miles a minute. But I felt like mine had stopped because I was having trouble getting my next breath and my chest hurt

"Seeley," the red-head calls out to him and Booth reaches out to catch her hand before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he turns to back to me.

"Bones… I'd like for you to meet Jill."

* * *

I attack the carpet with the vacuum cleaner with a little more force than necessary. After a week of living out of my suitcases at Cam's and Michelle's, it feels good…settling even…that I'm back in my own space. I had sublet my apartment before flying out to Maluku and my renters hadn't vacated until the day after I got back to DC. Between hauling my stuff out of storage and getting re-established at the Jeffersonian, I had ended up staying at Cam's for a week. But now I was home.

Sort of.

I was back in DC, but nothing felt the same and I realize just how naive I was to think that a year consisted of only 365 sunrises and sunsets. I didn't take into account just how many emotions could go through the minutes and seconds of each day and how these feelings twisted and turned even the best intentions into something you didn't recognize. And a twenty-four hour time span leaves lots of opportunities for new variables to mix into your experiment and turn your hypothesis upside down. Nothing would change in a year – nothing major, anyway. That had been my hypothesis.

And I had been soundly proven wrong.

I slide the couch over and vacuum under it. I probably need to just hire a carpet cleaner.

Wendell was gone from the Jeffersonian. A position had opened up in England and he took advantage of the opportunity. No one could blame him. I would have done the same thing. Clark was now our only intern and had been working well with the FBI. Once he completed his dissertation, Cam was prepared – if I agreed – to offer him a job with us. After looking over the work he had done while I was gone, I could do nothing but concur. Clark was good. He was better than good, really. He wasn't Zack, but he was more than competent.

Daisy Wick's true love turned out to be ancient remains. Not that this was any surprise to me. But I don't think even she realized just how passionate she was about them until she was elbow deep in Maluku soil and mud. Miss Wick had returned with me to complete her dissertation, but I knew at the end, she'd be right back up to her armpits in ruins and remains. The question still was, where did Sweets fit into this picture? I shook my head as I slid the couch back into its rightful position and fluffed the pillows with determination. I knew they had talked while she was gone, but I had no idea of what had been said. Not really. Daisy had quit moping about Sweets as soon as our plane landed on the island and she was able to get her hands on the skeletons. After that, I really didn't hear a lot out of her about her former fiance. So either Daisy was more private than she appeared to be, or it was well and truly over between her and my former FBI psychologist.

I'd bet my next meal it was over.

Vacuuming now complete, I wind up the cord and hose and push the thing back down the hall to the linen closet. I had promised myself that I would have my apartment back to looking like mine again by seven o'clock tonight and I had done well. It was 6:45. I had time to take a quick shower before…

Before what?

Before Thai delivery and beer and talk over old cases? I shook my head again, this time at my own foolishness. There would be no Thai food unless I ordered it. I could drink the whole six pack setting in my refrigerator and no one would be there to complain. I could flip through my own files and determine what questions I had about old cases we left hanging before I flew off.

I could do all this by myself and order all vegetarian food because there would be no Booth dropping by tonight. Tonight and probably any night in the future. I sigh and tuck back a strand of my almost-too-short hair that has escaped my pony tail.

I had met Jill. After that meeting on the mall – where I never got my coffee, by the way – Booth insisted we go to the diner. Still numb and reeling from the revelation, I obediently followed him and Jill inside the restaurant and over to our old booth. From there, I honestly remember very little. I must have asked questions, because Jill had fed me the information that still ran through my mind in an endless loop. She and Booth had met eight months into his one-year tour. She was rotating through as a nurse. She was from Indiana. She had a mom and a dad and three brothers. A dog and a fenced in backyard. She graduated third in her class at Old Miss and joined the army three years ago because "she wanted something different in her life." She was in DC, because like Booth, she was rotating out of the army and would be placed on reserves. She was hoping to land a job at Walter Reed.

In short, she was nothing like me with my dysfunctional family and ruminating issues. She was chic and socially aware and completely adored my former partner. I wasn't complete sure that adoration was returned, but by the light in those chocolate eyes, I could see Booth had sincere affection for Nurse Jill. I reminded myself, somewhat bitterly, that the light in his eyes used to be reserved only for Parker and me. But I somehow swallowed that sourness down my suddenly-clogged throat and managed what I could only hope was a believable smile. ""I'm happy for the both of you," I manage to get out without choking.

Or pulling her auburn hair out by the roots.

I slam the door to the linen closet and stride back down the hall, heading towards the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, I pull the first bottle of beer out. The hell with Thai tonight.


	2. Thunderstorm

**Thunderstorm**

**August 2011**

Chapter 2

It is hot. It is August and it's hard to believe that in a matter of weeks, I will wake up to frost on the ground and the beginning murmurs of autumn. Especially since right now, the temperature is hitting 72 and it's only 6 a.m. I can feel the trickles of sweat running between my shoulder blades and breasts as I force my body to endure just one more mile in these conditions.

I love to run. I enjoy my martial arts training, but there's something about running that's mindless and freeing. Ear buds in your ears and your favorite music pounding through your IPod and your feet hitting the pavement in an even rhythm – it's strangely relaxing while at the same time giving you that high that only intense cardiovascular work outs bestow.

The early morning runs also give me time to think about things. About how much I miss Wendell. I received an e-mail from him yesterday. He's doing well, enjoying his studies. He misses the United States…his family…us…but he feels he's where he needs to be right now and I can't argue with that. I think about how good it is to finally have Jack and Angela back from Paris. She thoroughly enjoyed painting there and told us the city was "intensely alive." She said the whole place was seeping with romance, from the corner vendors to the Louvre to the Eiffel Tower. "It's just a place for love and making love," she had enthused to Cam and me over lunch yesterday. I couldn't help but wonder why, in all my travels, I had never visited Paris. I had experienced a layover or two there, but I had never been there for any length of time. I made a mental note to add it to my list of things I want to do before I get too old.

Marriage has changed Angela a little. I mean, she's still _Angela_ and all that entails. The smirks…the off-color, sexual comments…she's still all that. But there's a … settledness about her…if that's even a word. She's a tad more peaceful, maybe even Zen now. Hodges has the same aura around him. It's like after all those frantic months of searching for someone to be with, someone to take each others place, they were only finally whole when they fell back into each other. I guess this is what is truly meant by soul mates.

And I am happy for them. And happy for Cam and her boyfriend. It seems everyone has paired up. Cam and Paul. Angela and Jack. Clark and his girlfriend. Booth and Jill. The only two people left dangling in the Jeffersonian participle of romance are me and Sweets…and God forbid, there was no way either of us was going to go there.

I finish my run by taking the stairs up to my apartment instead of the elevator, unlocking the front door and heading for the shower. It's now 6:30 and I need to be in the office by 7:30 – 8 at the latest.

* * *

"Bones, Bones, Bones, Bones, Bones." I hear him calling me across the lab floor, his voice reaching me before his body makes it through my doorway. "We have a case…chop, chop."

He stops there, by the door. He rarely comes all the way in my office now unless we're discussing evidence. He rarely helps me with my coat now. His hand has hovered at the small of my back once or twice…out of habit, I suppose, but it never rests there.

We never eat at the diner anymore.

We never share drinks at the Founding Fathers, even after we've successfully solved a case.

We are back to being Booth and Brennan – but it's the Booth and Brennan of the Cleo Eller case. We're not yelling at each other, just one hair shy of taking each others heads off. But we're not bickering, either.

No. We're civil. Far too civil for partners. Partners are supposed to share. Partners are supposed to shoulder each others burdens. Partners are supposed to be there for each other. At least that's what Booth had taught me. And when that happens, your guard goes down, no matter how much you try to keep it up. Believe me, I know. But now we just work together and when it's all over I guess he goes home to Jill and I go home to…me.

It's wearing on me. I had gone to Maluku with the intentions of finding enormously important scientific skeletons underneath the soil. And as I had dug and brushed away the dirt layer by layer, I found I was uncovering more than just the past of an ancient civilization. I found that I was rubbing the layers off of myself, too. Layers of doubt that I was good enough for a man like Booth. Layers of self-recrimination. Layers of hurt and the hard shell those years of betrayal had formed around me.

And once all that had been brushed away, I found someone I didn't quite recognize. A woman who not only had an open heart, but also a woman that was capable of loving some fully. I imagine she'd really been there all along; it just took me quite a few years to find her again. And when I finally found this part of myself, I couldn't wait to share it with Booth.

Instead, I found out that I was too late. While there was no doubt in my mind that Booth still cared for me, he had used the year in Afghanistan to move on. He may not have started out that way, but it had happened. He and Jill found each other in a war zone and he was happy – the happiest I had seen him in a while.

And I was happy for him. It would be cruel and mean-spirited for me not to be. A man like Booth – a good man – deserved happiness, even if I wasn't going to get to be the one to give it to him. Even if I couldn't share with him this brand-new, shiny part of me that I still was getting used to. But I wasn't about to put the layers of hurt back over it and wrap it back up in that shell. I would keep this recently exposed part of me to myself. Perhaps, maybe…I, too, would find someone to share my life with.

"Bones?" his voice calls from the doorway again. "You coming? Or am I going to have to come over there and get you?"

I grab my bag and purse and head for the door.

* * *

It seems like an open and shut case. Skeletal remain of a female discovered by a jogger, not too far from the National Mall. Bone fusion and pelvis indicate she was between 20 and 35 years of age and had given birth at least once. She was Caucasian and her shoulder indicated that she had played either tennis or softball. By the shape her knees were in, I'd bet tennis.

One cleaned skeleton later, I pass the skull off to Angela for a sketch. We run it through missing persons and get a hit – Sarah Pennington, reported missing by her father three months ago. Her husband had been under the umbrella of suspicion since the beginning. The fact that he was already living with another woman had done nothing to help his case.

While Booth questioned him, I pondered just how ephemeral love really was…or even if this guy had loved his wife to begin with. I wondered just how long this new, shiny part of me would stay so pure. Would it even pass the first test? I sighed and Booth cut his eyes at me. I could read what was on his mind in half a heartbeat. _If you can't stay on the same page as me, get out of this room._

I pull myself together and watched as Booth went in for the kill with this interrogation. While the guy didn't exactly cave, he asked for an attorney. I knew in Booth's mind, this was all but an admission of guilt on some level. We both backed out of the room while the suspect sat alone and waited on his lawyer.

"Want some coffee?"

I looked up, nearly startled at his comment.

"Earth to Bones…want some coffee?"

The thought flits through my mind that I never got that first cup with him … that day on the mall. What makes him think I want one now? "Um, no," I stammer. "I need to get back to the lab. I'll let you know if I find out anything else."

I push open the doors to the Hoover and somehow manage not to stumble down the steps, stopping at the bottom to take a deep breath. And it hits me then. As sure as lightning during a summer thunderstorm, it hits me just as true and just as hard.

We were the center. But the center had not held.


	3. Survival

**Survival**

November 2011

Chapter Three

There are boundaries now. Boundaries between us. Most of them are self-imposed and unstated. We allow ourselves only the occasional lunch at the diner, and then it's strictly a work-related meal. No more working late over paperwork together. Booth completes his share in his office and I finish my share in mine. We do sometimes ride together to crime scenes, but more often than not, I insist on driving my car now, and he doesn't stop me. I find myself doing this more frequently as time goes by. And no after-the-case-is-solved drinks at the Founding Fathers unless it's the entire group – Booth and all of his squints. Jill will join us in her Walter Reed nurse scrubs about half-way through the celebration. Jill is nice. I can't really find fault in her. She's sweet and thoughtful and never says the wrong thing at the wrong time. And it's clear to anyone that she loves Booth.

It's even clearer that Booth is beginning to love her back.

I don't say anything about it. I try not to even look at them. Both of those rules seem to be on the list of boundaries-to-not-cross-under-any-conditions that remains unsaid between us. I tried, once, to broach the subject and Booth quickly shot me down. "Jill and me…we're trying, Bones. I don't want to hurt her, and I really want to move on."

In other words, Jill may just be the one that will still love him in twenty, thirty, or fifty years. Booth obviously hasn't taken into consideration that maybe…just maybe, I've changed. That maybe there's a new part of me he hasn't explored.

I'm not one to give up. I've always worked too hard for what I wanted in life and I've encountered too many adverse circumstances to forfeit a fight. However, I do know that to engage in this battle – a battle of hearts not wills – could be devastating for all involved. Booth didn't want to hurt Jill and I didn't want to hurt Booth. Not again. Not ever again. So I swallow my pride, shoulder the humiliation, deal with the pain and try to move on myself

I find that I do this best by not being in DC. So while I hear that Booth and Jill are looking for an apartment that would be big enough for them to move into together, I'm actively looking for lecture opportunities and books signings and digs. I'm gone a week here and a few days there. Cam says nothing, but readily signs my requests for leave. At least for awhile. But Cam's no dummy. She knows escaping the reality right in front of my nose is the best way for me to cope – at least at this juncture. So when she gently suggests that Clark be promoted to work with the FBI, I quickly agree. There was really no reason not to. He was already doing that most of the time anyway.

What I wasn't prepared for was Booth's anger. This time he didn't stop at my office door. He strode right through it, threw the paper that transferred my job as the FBI liaison to Clark down on my desk and uttered one, single, harsh syllable.

"No."

I look up from the stack of paperwork I'm wading through and blink.

"No?"

"No. I will work with you and only you, Bones. You know that. So why are you quitting on me now? Why after six years are _you leaving me_?"

The emphasis on the last three words doesn't go unnoticed. Booth knows my greatest fear is him leaving me. I guess he assumes that I don't realize the same fear is reciprocated. I sit back in my chair and carefully regard him. He's still thinner than he was a year ago. The lean muscle mass he gained while stationed in Afghanistan hasn't gone away. His hair is back to being the spiky mess it was. He still looked good enough to eat in a suit. Even better in his jeans and a t-shirt. And he still smelled like home.

Except he wasn't my home any longer. And he hadn't been for eighteen months.

"Booth," I hear myself say, "I haven't worked with you on a consistent basis in over six months. You've actually worked more cases with Clark than with me since we've both gotten back from overseas. I don't see any reason not to transfer the full time FBI responsibility over to him. Especially since I'm away a great deal of the time now. And Clark…Clark is more than capable and he's earned the promotion."

His eyes. His eyes have changed since he got back. That light that was once reserved only for Parker and me? I haven't seen that light since May 2010. And right now those eyes grow hard and the force of that nearly pins me to my chair and sucks the air out of my lungs. My throat clogs and my eyes sting.

"Why? I want to know _why,_ Bones. Why are _you _ kicking our partnership to the curb when once it was the most important thing to you?"

How do you explain to a man who is involved – deeply involved – with another woman that the reason you can't work with him is because it simply hurts too much? That your heart, which certainly can't be broken, is in reality, crushed? How do you tell him that without revealing too much and leaving a path of destruction in its wake?

So I put my heart in neutral and pop my logic back into overdrive. "I'm sure everything will be fine, Booth. I mean, your case solve rate hasn't gone down any since you've been working with Clark. And I'm always just a phone call or video conference away for consult. I'm not deserting you…I'm just…stretching my professional boundaries."

His glare gets harder and there's a beat of uncomfortable silence between us that stretches for years before he snatches the transfer papers back off my desk.

"Whatever."

And just as quickly and angrily as he entered my office, he is gone.

I sigh and swipe my fingers over my eyes to dispel the tears that were now gathering. Before I turn my attention back to the next book contract I had been reading before Booth swept into my office, I take one long look around the place that used to be my second home. I knew I couldn't stay here much longer, at least not on a permanent basis. But as I find my gaze dwelling on the gentle swell beginning to round out Angela's tummy, I knew that the Jeffersonian would always have strings that would pull me back…back to a center that was now deflated and useless, but a place that still held people I loved and who loved me back. The center may not have held, but I would still cling to what was left. Six months from now Angela would have her and Hodgin's first child. My god child. I wanted to be here for that. But afterward? I was going to throw a dart at a map, see where it landed, and book a flight.

After the baby here, I would be gone. Maybe not on a permanent basis, but I would stretch the ties that bind me to DC as far as I could before they snapped and pulled me back. I would leave, go to places that needed me and my work as an anthropologist, and then come back to regroup, see friends and family, and measure how far I had progressed with this thing called moving on. I would travel in the name of professional development, but those that know me…really know me…will realize that no matter whatever I called it, it was a farce.

I would be leaving to survive a crushed heart.


	4. Hurricane

**Hurricane**

May 2012

Chapter Four

It is a boy.

On May 5, 2012, Angela "Pearly Gates" Montenegro Hodgins gives birth to a seven pound, nine ounce, nineteen-inch long beautiful, perfect, baby boy. He is absolutely the most gorgeous baby I have ever seen. Not than I am prejudiced or anything…I mean, just because I am his godmother doesn't mean I'm not objective. Not in the least.

The doctors have to induce labor and little Jack takes his own sweet time getting here. I am able to stay with Angela during part of the time – to let Hodgins have a break. I wouldn't have traded that opportunity for anything in the world. I wasn't in the birthing room when Jack Michael was born, but I treasure the time I was able to spend with my best friend, to try to help her through the pain, and play a small part in the birth of my godson.

Hodgins is beside himself with pride…and gratitude…and love. If I think the love he and Angela share on May 4 is unique and beautiful, that emotion compounds itself and grows exponentially on May 5 when they become parents.

And I am so happy for them and proud of Jack Michael…but on the other hand I am envious. This birth has brought so many feelings back to the surface. Feelings I thought I have compartmentalized and locked away…but they crept out of those boxes as soon as I hold Jack. I still want to be a mother. I still want that feeling that there'll always be someone around to love me and that I can love unconditionally.

I still want Booth to be the father of that baby.

But even though his semen remains frozen and viable at the clinic, I know this can never happen now. For one thing, he and Jill are getting married. And because of this fact alone, I know, without asking, Booth would never acquiesce to this request. So I will simply never ask.

* * *

I am not, by any stretch of anyone's imagination, a religious person. Due to this fact, I am initially hesitant about being Jack Michael's godmother. I readily think that Booth was the far more obvious choice to be his godfather, given his Catholic beliefs. I mean a godparent, by definition, not only is a person who would take over for the parents if they were incapacitated, but part of their responsibility is to also teach the child religious tenants. But after Jack explains to me that he and Angela want their child to grow up surrounded by people who were caring, concerned, ethical, and compassionate and that both Booth and I met that description, I relent.

So that is how, on a hot August afternoon, at Our Lady of Grace, Booth and I find ourselves thrown together once more, this time as Jack Michael's godparents. When Angela hands her son off to us and Booth and I hold the tiny baby together, our eyes locked for the first time in months before we turn our attention back to the littlest Hodgins. _This could be yours_, I hear a voice in the back of mind that sound suspiciously like Caroline, _if you had only given a relationship with Booth a shot. You could have said yes. You wouldn't have gone to the Maluku Islands, he wouldn't have re-enlisted and Jack and Angela could be standing here becoming the godparents to the littlest Booth._

I resist putting a mental fist in the mouth of my conscious. Instead I coo over the baby and find that my breath catches just a bit in my throat as Booth offers Little Jack his finger and the baby readily latches on.

"See. Male bonding already," I hear Booth whisper.

"He's…he's beautiful, isn't he?" I manage to whisper back before my breath catches again. My skirt must be tighter than I thought.

"Prettiest baby since Parker," Booth reassures me.

And again our eyes lock and for a split second I am sure that Caroline is invading his thought process too. _This could be us…_But all too soon there are more prayers to a God that I don't understand and the priest dabs the baby's forehead with water and hands Little Jack back to the waiting arms of his parents.

It is over and done and we find ourselves back at the Hodgins estate for a late brunch. Me, Angela, Jack, Caroline, Cam, Paul, Michelle, Sweets, Daisy, Clark, Cullen…even Zack is able to get out for the day. And of course, Booth and Jill, because as much as Angela would like to exclude Jill from the day, she can't. Jill is now Booth's fiancé.

The wedding date is set for September 18. I am scheduled to fly out of DC on September 16. A fact Booth didn't know, until, in the course of conversations and toasts, Jack let that tidbit of information slip .Everyone else is aware of it. Booth's face went blank, then red, then white. His jaw firms and a muscle tics. And as soon as brunch had been cleared away, he makes a beeline for me.

I notice he leaves Jill talking with Angela.

"What do you mean, you're flying out of DC on September 16?" he questions.

I sigh. There are few very sure things about this world. Give it one year and more can change than you could begin to dream about. And just when you're all caught up in the who-did-what-to-who and what politician is wasting your tax dollars, the winds will shift and the weather will change and you're left with the natural disaster from hell. And that's what happened to Jamaica. A hurricane had hit, devastating the island. As much as could possibly be done for the living had already been taken care of. It was up to me to go and try to make sense of it all for the dead.

We lock eyes again. "Jamaica," I say simply, knowing he will realize the significance.

He is quiet and still for a minute. "It can't wait? You can't fly out on the 19th?"

I shake my head and wonder if Booth has any idea at all how hard this is for me? Yes, I had agreed with him when he told me he had to move on. I didn't try to stop him or hold him back then. And even when I realized my mistake and was eager to correct it, I didn't. Not after I met Jill. Not after he told me that he and Jill were trying.

Not after I saw the diamond on her left hand.

Not after I learned that I was on the wedding invitation list.

I know, as surely as I am standing here with Booth at this moment, that I cannot watch him promise to love, shelter, protect, and care for another woman. To do that would quite possibly make this new part of me – the part that wants to share my life unreservedly with another person – die a quick death. And I have worked far too hard on revealing this new part of myself to build walls around it again. I may not have the life I long for with Booth, but I am reasonably sure I will be able to find someone else out there in the great expanse of our universe. I have to. I need to. That hollow feeling I had seven years ago is back. I may not have recognized it then, but I do now. It is an emptiness that fills your chest cavity and worms its way into your abdomen and settles in the back of your knees. It drifts over me again and I long to eliminate it. And I know that the only way to fill that emptiness is to find someone who will be willing to love me, even if it is only for a little while.

Even if it isn't Booth.

But DC? Washington is just growing too small. I know I'd continuously run into Booth and Mrs. Booth and don't think I can take it. It is time for me to expand myself, run out into the world with both arms wide open, and find someone that would love me for me.

Just like Booth had once upon a time.

He takes a deep breath before putting one hand on my shoulder and I still feel that electric shock of emotions pass between us.

"I'm sorry, Bones," he says. "I'm sorry it didn't work out between us."

And in that moment, I know he does feel sorry. It shows in his eyes and you can hear it in his voice.

"It will be okay, Booth," I reply, still careful of his feelings.

He nods and glances over to Jill. "She's a good woman."

I follow his line of sight. "I know." My throat and voice are tight. He deserves a good woman.

"I do love her."

"I know that, too. You wouldn't have proposed if you didn't."

Booth sighs and his hand goes from my shoulder to his pants pocket. I feel bereft.

"But she's not you."

It was said quietly and quickly before he walks away. He makes it about a half a dozen steps before he turns back to me. "I would like you there. I mean, we've always been there for each other at the milestones of our lives. The big events – you know the ones you take pictures of and post them on Facebook?"

I have heard of this Facebook. I still don't understand it. "I don't know what…"

His crooked grin cuts me off. "It's okay, Temperance. I understand. I do. I understand why you can't be here for my wedding. And to tell you the truth…honestly? If it were you getting married? I wouldn't stick around, either."

And he is back at Jill's side, where he belongs.

I shut my eyes and swallow hard and try for just a minute, not to think, but just to enjoy the warm sunshine on my face and the sounds of the people around me. And for a brief minute I am able, until my Blackberry vibrates, alerting me to a text message from my publisher.

My latest book just made the New York Times Best Seller list.


	5. Reality Check

**Reality Check**

May 2017

Chapter 5

I fly back into Washington, DC on December 22. Despite the fact that much work remains in Jamaica, I am determined not to miss my godson's first Christmas. My plan lands and Jack is there to pick me up. He takes me back to my apartment and I promise that I will see him, Angela, and Jack Michael on Christmas Eve. My timing is strategic. I have arrived too late for the annual Jeffersonian/FBI Christmas party and will leave too early for any New Year's Eve festivities.

I have no desire to run into Mr. and Mrs. Special Agent Seeley Booth.

Angela is diligent in keeping me up to speed. I get digital pictures of Little Jack and on occasion, Hodgins has put him on Skype for me to see – which mainly entails the baby trying to eat the web camera. I even got pictures of Booth's wedding. Pictures of Booth, Hodgins and Angela and Booth and Parker. The only picture that Jill was in is the picture with the Booths and all the squints.

She looked lovely. Despite whatever it is I feel towards the woman, I can't help but admit that Jill made a beautiful bride. And Booth was devastatingly handsome in his tux. In my heart of hearts, I can't help but hope he is truly happy. He deserves to be truly happy. He should be truly happy.

Happy in a way that he could obviously never be with me.

The next couple of days are busy. I finally have a chance to buy Christmas presents and hurry to get them wrapped before going to Angela's and Jack's on Christmas Eve. I find it's a Jeffersonian reunion – everyone from the lab is there. Conspicuously absent are any FBI partners or psychologists. We trade stories and presents and pass Jack Michael around to cuddle and coo over. He's getting so big and strong and his parents are crazy over this child.

I realize just how much I miss these people – my makeshift family. But unlike my own biological family, I have found that no matter how far away I go or how long I am gone, when I return home, these people still accept me with no preconceived ideas. It's almost like we've never been apart. I feel those ties that bind me to these people snap and pull me in closer.

It would be easy to stay. Easy just to unpack my bags and let the love that I feel for this group bind me here. But I can't. And it's not just because Booth is married and he's still here and he's still working with the Jeffersonian and I'd have to see him. It's because I know instinctively that the person out there for me isn't in DC. Maybe it's my "gut" talking or maybe it's just based on my hypothesis that if that person was in Washington, I would have already met him after all these years. I just know that I can't stay. So after a quick trip to see Russ, Amy, and the girls and reconnect with Dad, I fly out of DC on December 28 and am settled back in Jamaica before the New Year's Countdown begins.

I have stretched the ties and find they do not break.

* * *

After six months, my work in Jamaica ends, but I don't go back to DC. My latest book, _The Truth in the Bones,_ hit the New York Times Bestseller List before I left to do recovery work on the island. Now my publisher and my agent want me to do a book tour. For once, I don't offer excuses, but readily comply. I know I may even sound too eager to perform this task, but I'm not ready to go back to the Jeffersonian.

The tour lasts three months. After that, there's another dig. And then another. And another. Then my next book, _Bone of My Bone._ It rockets to the top position in the New York Times immediately.

For years there had been speculation in my circle of friends that Kathy and Andy were modeled after Booth and me and the relationship I really wanted to have with my FBI partner. I always vehemently denied it and always planted enough evidence and situations in my books to counter any resemblance of my life. But the truth of the matter is, although I had been writing Kathy and Andy before Booth entered my life, my fictional couple eventually bore too close of a similarity to us to lie about it any longer. And when I split the couple up in _The Truth in the Bones_, I could hear Angela's "I told you so" all the way in Jamaica without the use of a cell phone.

In _Bone of My Bone_, I reunite Kathy and Andy. I initially wrestle with the decision, but decide that if I can't have the nonfictional Booth, I would settle on letting Kathy live the life I want but am unable have. The rumored reunion of the two at the National Mall is driving book sales through the roof.

I momentarily worry if this will bother Booth. Of all the books I have written,_ Bone of My Bone_ is definitely the one that I would like to mirror my life. It is has all my dreams and wishes exposed for the entire world to see, including my former partner and his now-wife. And then I decide I just don't care. I don't care what Jill thinks. I don't care what Booth thinks. He needs to know, even though it is obviously too late for us, that I do love him and I do finally understand what love means.

It would be another two years before I finally got the chance to exercise that knowledge.

* * *

It was on a hot morning in the ancient city of Stobi - the capital of Macedonia Secunda, that my life changes again.

Digs had been going on here for years, but each one yielded more new information about the people that once occupied this ancient city. Dr. Goodman contacts me about the excursion and asks if I would be interested in taking a group of graduate students there for an internship as a personal favor to him. I readily agree. How could I not? After all, it was Dr. Goodman that asked. I owe a huge chunk of my success to him.

I am new at the dig, replacing Dr. Sybil Millis who had to return to the states due to a family emergency. I instruct the graduate students where to begin to dig and how…slowly, methodically, not taking anything for granted. I am well into the dig myself when something cold and wet is nudged on my shoulder.

"Here. Looks like you could use this."

The voice was deep and thick like velvet and bears a hint of an accent.

My line of sight follows the proffered bottle of water to a calloused, masculine hand attached to a forearm flecked with bleached blond hair… up a pair of arms that have well-defined musculature…to a tanned face with the bluest eyes I have ever seen. My eyes stop at the shock of blond hair that the sun has bleached to match the hair on his arms.

In all my digs all over the world, I have never seen this man in my life.

"Do I know you?" I hear myself ask, taking the bottle of water from him.

"Nope. Can't say you've had the pleasure. But I know you. You're Dr. Temperance Brennan." His lips curve into a sassy grin.

I eye him carefully. You never know who exactly can attach themselves to a dig and his faint Australian accent could mean anything from a would-be crocodile hunter to an honest-to-goodness PhD.

"And you would be?" I ask.

"Tucker. Dr. G. Tucker."

"Dr. Tucker?"

The head nods and we both stand up. I discover he's got at least eight inches on me in height and I find myself craning my neck to look in his eyes.

"That's right. Dr. Tucker. From the University of California at Berkley." A hand extends to engulf my own and shake it. The man is huge. I feel dwarfed. We both down our waters for before returning to conversation.

"But you're from Australia?" I question.

"Not for a long time. Been in the states for nearly twenty years now. The accent still pops out. Can't seem to get rid of it." His grin returns. I decide it's somewhere between a smirk and a smile. And I also decide I like it and his accent.

"I like the accent. Don't get rid of it, Dr. Tucker." I return his smile with one of my own.

His grin widens. "Then I won't, Dr. Brennan. But please, we're going to be on this dig for a while now. Call me Tucker. Everyone else does. Even the students."

"Then please, call me Bren." I haven't been called Bones now in years.

"Done." He takes my now empty water bottle along with his and shoots both of them in the recycling bins. "I guess it's back to the salt mines?" he nods towards the students who are still hard at work.

"But there aren't any salt…" Then I catch the twinkle in his eyes. "Oh. Back to work."

He nods, his blond hair promptly falling in his eyes at the motion. "Good meeting you, Bren. See you around the camp. Stay hydrated." And he strides off to his students on the other side of the dig.

I feel it then. At first I wonder if I'm coming down with something because there is a distinct tingle in my stomach and a warm feeling in my abdomen. But when the nausea doesn't come and my eyesight remains steady with no spots, I realize what it is.

I am attracted to this man. For the first time in nearly three years, I am attracted to someone other than Booth.

Hallelujah.

* * *

Tucker and I end up eating dinner together that night and almost every other night we're on the dig. He's easy going and easy to talk to. I find out that he's a tenured professor at Berkley and is ten years my senior.

I offer up information on myself, but he stops me. "You're Dr. Temperance Brennan, of the Jeffersonian Institute. You've got three doctorates and you're a genius. You write best-selling books and in the past, partnered with the FBI to solve the unsolvable." That smirky grin spread across his face. "You're reputation precedes you, Brennan."

I find that I don't even flinch when he mentions my past with the FBI. It now seems like years ago.

"No kids, no boyfriends, no pets," he continues, his amusement increasing.

"Now I know that information isn't on any of my book jackets," I counter.

"Nope."

"Then how'd you find out…"

His blue eyes twinkle and I feel my breath catching just a little. "It's amazing what you find out when you ask a few questions...or spend a couple of hours Googling the woman you're trying to get up the courage to ask out."

"You Googled me?" I could feel a blush beginning to heat my cheeks.

"Yep." Tucker rises and pulls me to my feet and away from the mess tent. "Didn't have anything better to do and had to find out if that pesky agent you used to work with wouldn't shoot my ass if I asked you for a date. Discovered that Agent Booth is now married."

I nod and my breath catches again and my stomach falls just a little. But just a little this time – not the nose-dive it used to take in the past when someone would mention Booth's name.

"Know what else I found out?"

"What?"

He takes my hand and we begin to walk towards my tent. "You're favorite flowers are daffodils." He stops outside my door to let me open the flap for us to go inside. But I pause.

"I want to know something about you, Tucker."

His eyebrows jump to meet his hairline. "Okay. What?"

"What does the G stand for in 'Dr. G. Tucker'?"

A look of horror passes over his face. "No. You can't want to know that?"

Instead I grin up at him and nod. "I do. Yes, I believe I really do want to know what the G stands for. I mean, after all, it's only fair. You _Googled_ me."

Tucker sighs and shifts his weight. He looks off into the distance and then back at me. And realizes I'm not going to move from in front of tent flap until he tells me just what that G stands for.

"Gaylord," he finally whispers, a mournful look passing across his face.

I am completely silent for a full beat, trying my best to keep the laugh inside me from bubbling out. It doesn't work.

"_Gaylord?" _I nearly double over with laughter. Soon we are both nearly hysterical and tears are running down my cheeks. God, this felt good. I haven't laughed like this in months. I didn't know I still could.

"Gaylord," he affirms. "I think on some level my mother hated me from the get go."

I nod, completely agreeing, and unzip my flap of my tent.

* * *

Tucker and I are almost inseparable during the dig at Stobi. He's intelligent the same way Booth is - a people-street-smart way. He's funny and sweet and I worry about what will happen when our time in Stobi is over. Digs are odd things. In many ways they're like a living microcosm that is isolated from the outside world. A group of people, who previously don't know each other, are brought together, usually under fairly adverse conditions, and are expected to produce miracles – wonderful discoveries, one-of-a-kind artifacts, and some sort of enlightenment about the past of a civilization – all the while learning to depend on strangers to enable the desired results.

It is only natural that during these digs, attachments are formed. After the expeditions are over, the attachments generally fall by the wayside.

I am not sure what will happen to Tucker and me. I would like to stay in touch with him. But at the end of our time in Stobi, he flies back to Berkley and I fly back to DC.

Only to find him waiting outside my office door the second day I'm back at the Jeffersonian. He hugs me and I hug him and I am so glad to see him that I don't know what to say. So I don't speak. Instead I kiss him, with Angela, Hodgins, Cam, and Clark all looking on.

"I couldn't stay away," he confesses. "I've got some time off coming and thought…well." He looks nervous and he glances around at my friends. "I thought maybe I could spend some of that time with you."

I feel something inside me tighten up just a bit before I release a breath. "That would be so nice," I tell him.

That is how Booth came to meet Tucker a few weeks later. Clark is still the FBI liaison, even though I am scheduled to be back for several months. Booth is in the lab, conferring with Clark and notices that my usually locked office door is now standing wide open and that there's a large, blond man lounging on my couch, waiting for me to go to lunch. Before I can even process what is happening, Booth knocks on my door and my immediate attention is drawn not to his face, but to the broad silver band that now adorns his left ring finger.

And I experience what Angela calls a reality check.

"Heya, Bones. Long time, no see." He pauses for a moment at my door. I stand up to greet him and am surprised when he pulls me into one of his guy hugs.

All the air leaves me…in my lungs and in the room. It's gone. All the oxygen is gone. This is unfair. So unfair. "Hello," I manage when I can at least draw half a breath again.

I hear someone clearing their throat and am thankful for Tucker in more ways than he will ever know.

"Booth…this is Tucker. Tucker, Booth."

No way am I going into the particulars of who Tucker is and why he is here. That is mine to keep.

"Nice to meet you." Booth extends his hand and Tucker shakes it. And I notice that for all their differences, they're really a lot a like. I wonder what this says about me.

"Same here," Tucker says. His face looks like it's all placid and calm, but I've seen that look enough to know better. Gaylord Tucker wears the same expression when he has discovered something big on a dig. It thoroughly masks the tension behind the man. "I was on the Stobi dig with Bren," he offers to my former partner.

"Ah." Then Booth turns his attention back to me. "Are you back in DC for a while now, Bones?"

I swallow the confusion in my throat. It bounces back up as my eyes dart between Tucker and Booth and wish for all that is in me that Clark or Cam or Angela or somebody would call and say they needed me. Hell, I'd settle for accounting to call and question me about my tax deductions. By this point, I wasn't going to be choosy. I just wanted out of this very tense triangle of emotions. "For a little while," I manage to get out before Tucker takes over the conversation.

An easy grin passes over his face. "I'm here hoping I can talk Bren into another dig with me. There's some fascinating work going on in Khirbet Qeiyafa."

It's Booth's turn to be surprised again. "Khirbet Qeiyafa. That's in the Middle East."

Tucker nodded.

Booth whistles. It's a low, whistle and one that I know well. The man is not happy with this information. The whistle is his way of letting off steam before the explosion happens. He turns his head back to me and that look in his eyes is back – the one that pins me to the wall, unable to move.

"You be careful with yourself, Bones." And he turns to leave, but not before giving Tucker a similar look. I know what this one means, too. Booth has measured Tucker and found him lacking in the ability to take care of me.

I feel my frustration and anger rise. What right does that man have to come into my office and pull off his alpha-male act with me? Booth is married and happy and I desperately need to get out of DC again.

It's Tucker's chuckle that brings me back to reality. "Is he always wound that tight?"

As the tense atmosphere dissipates and I feel the heat of my anger cool, I nod. "Yes."

Tucker doesn't say anything else. He just raises his eyebrows and looks like one of the great mysteries of the universe has just been clearly explained to him.

* * *

I don't go to Khirbet Qeiyafa. I want to, but my publisher is pressing for a new book outline and I use that excuse to hide myself away for the next month or two in California with Tucker. I work in his study at home during the day, considering ideas and discarding them. Tucker teaches while I'm pulling together plots and at night we go out to dinner or watch movies and push our fledging relationship forward.

And I feel it's working. I have strong affection for this man who can make my stomach do flip-flops and whose touch can make me shiver with anticipation. But six weeks into my stay, Gaylord Tucker breaks my heart.

"You're holding part of yourself back, Bren," his tone so serious, I nearly flinch. After an hour of making love, he's telling me I'm holding part of myself back. I look up at him and gently touch the side of his face with the palm of my hand.

"No, I'm not."

Tucker sighs and rolls off of me. "Yes…yes you are. I mean, you don't call his name when you come and I've never heard you say it in your sleep," he gives me a half-smirky-smile, "but I know that part of you will always belong to Booth."

I swallow and sit up, clutching the sheets to my chest. "Tucker…" I begin.

He holds up a hand to stop me mid-sentence. "It's okay, Bren. I was hoping when I got you out here, he'd fade into the past. You might not forget him, but at least I could have all of your heart even if Booth still lurked somewhere in the dark recesses of your mind.

"It's complicated…" I begin. "I should have… a long time ago…he knows…but…" My thoughts are moving so fast that my sentences are incoherent.

"So you settled with me?" Tucker's blue eyes are looking me over. Sad-looking, but not shrewd.

"I didn't settle. I was trying…honestly…"

"I know, Sweetheart." He suddenly hugs me close and kisses my forehead. "Booth is an idiot."

I feel my face grow wet and I know I'm crying. He gently wipes my tears and lets me cry it out in his arms before we both fall asleep.

The next morning I am gone before Gaylord Tucker gets up. I leave him a note and tell him how much he does mean to me and that I will always, on some sublimated, convoluted level, love him and that I treasure the time we've spent together. And that I'm sorry…so very sorry for everything.

I have a layover in Chicago and decide to spend a few days there before returning to DC. I find a hotel, shower, and order room service. While I am waiting on my salad, I log into check my e-mail, half-way expecting some sort of reply from Tucker.

Instead there's only one from Angela with the words "Booth Cancer" in the subject line. My heart drops as I click into it with shaking hands. What if Booth's tumor was back? What if this time it was inoperable? I take a deep breath as my eyes scan Angela's message.

It wasn't Booth. It was Jill. Jill Booth has pancreatic cancer.

* * *

**Okay. I like Tucker. You have no idea how close I came to having Bones sail into the sunset with him.**


	6. Hard Questions

May 2019

Chapter Six

I have never doubted the validity of words. As a best-selling author, I know just how powerful – both for good and evil – words can be. I've never doubted it. Never had any reason to.

Until today.

Today I watched my best friend bury his wife. And I am at a complete loss as to what to say to him. Anything I could come up with would be empty and trivial and would do absolutely nothing to ease Booth's pain. I come back to DC for Jill's funeral out of respect for what once was. What once was our partnership, our friendship, and the fact that we've always been there for each other through the rough patches of life. But I have no clue what to do or say around a man I used to be so comfortable with. There is nothing I can do to make this situation better. Nothing at all.

And I have never seen Seeley Booth look so dejected and… and … _old_.

There is simply no other way to put it. I know pancreatic cancer is horrible. It's one of the most ruthless kinds of cancer out there – difficult to detect, because it mimics so many other kinds of illnesses. And once detected, the cancer is usually already in stage four. Even if the disease is caught early, it is almost impossible to treat.

Jill lasted two years. I can only imagine what Booth has been through.

The reality of it all shows in him. His hair is now graying at the temples. His shoulders are slumped. He looks like a man who is defeated. And I'm sure that he really does feel that way. I have no doubt that he was at Jill's side for the duration and he ordered the doctors to use whatever treatment available to cure his wife.

I ache for him. Not in any sensual or sexual kind of way anymore. That is over. But I wish there was someway I could help him with burden he's dealing with now. Shoulder it for him. Take the weight off his shoulders. I wish there was something I could say, something I could do. How can words and actions seem so empty when my heart is so full for this man?

The priest says a final prayer and I watch as Booth lays a small bouquet of red roses on Jill's casket. I was in Moscow for a conference when Cam called me with the news of Jill's death. There was no way I could arrive in time for the visitation and wake. As a matter of fact, I only arrived in DC two hours prior to the funeral, and just managed to make it to the service. I have yet to speak to Booth.

And when I get the chance, I honestly don't know what to say.

"I'm so sorry, Booth," I tell him. He has walked just far enough away from the small cluster of Walter Reed nurses and doctors and FBI agents and Jeffersonian employees for me to approach him.

"Bones?" His expression shows that he's surprised to see me. "I…thought…I heard you were in Moscow."

I nod. "I came back…I came…" Damn. I'm a best-selling author and I can't get the right words out. They're stuck somewhere in my throat, which has grown hot and dry. "I'm just so sorry. So very, very sorry."

He smiles. It's not the charm smile by any means. It's not even a close replica. It certainly doesn't reach his eyes. "Thank you."

It's awkward for a few moments and I know that shortly he and Parker and Jill's family will make a move towards the family cars and I may not get the chance to talk with him again. "It isn't fair, you know."

And he knows I'm not talking about us or then. He knows that I'm talking about Jill and the cancer.

"No. But whoever said life was fair, Bones?" The smile takes on a hint of wryness. "She fought it, you know. Long and hard and with everything she had in her."

"She was a strong lady."

He nods. "She was a good woman. I'm going to miss her." He swallows hard and I see his Adam's apple bob. He's close to breaking down and I can sense it.

"I know."

An older woman, who bears a close resemblance to Jill, makes her way over and touches Booth's arm. I assume she's Jill's mother. "Seeley," she says, "the car is waiting…"

Booth turns to go, but then faces me again. "Thanks, Bones. Thanks for coming all the way back to DC. It means a lot." And then he's swallowed up by the black limo and I know that I won't see him again while I'm in Washington. He will be too busy tending to the details of becoming a widower.

The world encroaches on me again and I find that after Jill's funeral, I am once again shuttled between a series of book tours and digs. For six months, my Jeffersonian office stays dark and locked. And while I am not there in person, I am finding my thoughts and my metaphorical heart there more and more.

Most specifically with Booth. I am worried about him. Angela's phone calls disturb me. At first, I think that it's just because she's pregnant again and all those hormones are washing through her body, making her maternal about everybody. She was that way when she was pregnant with Jack Michael. But later, I do begin to worry. Angela says that Booth does not look well and is grieving hard for his wife. He's not adjusting to life without Jill. I wonder just how much of it is true and how much of it is the pregnancy hormones talking.

I haven't talked to him since Jill's funeral. I had determined that after Booth and Jill were engaged to leave Booth alone and let him and Jill make a life together. I did not want Jill to worry about her fiancé's female partner and all the gossip that circled around the Jeffersonian and Hoover about us. I had left, giving them space, and when I did return to DC, I purposely did not stay long. And after Jill died, I gave Booth space again. I didn't want him to feel any pressure from me about anything.

But maybe there had been enough time and space for me to at least ask him how he is doing.

I've never been shy with words, but sitting down at my laptop and composing that e-mail was one of the most difficult things I had done. I deleted the first twenty-six. After two glasses of wine, I figure the twenty-seventh's a charm:

_Dear Booth,_

_I'm sorry I haven't written before, but I assume that you've had a lot to deal with and there were a lot of people around taking care of you. I know after a while everyone else believes you can go back to "normal" and continue to live your life. Too bad no one tells you what "normal" is anymore. At least that was the way everyone was with me when my parents disappeared. _

_So how are you? I can only imagine that things are not "normal" for you, no matter how much I wish they could be. Please tell me how you are doing and what you are doing…and if there's any way I can help._

I struggled with how to sign it. Love, Bones, would be too bold. Your friend? Your ex-partner? Your idiot-ex-partner-who-should-have-told-you-how-she-felt-years-ago?

None of them sound right. Finally I settle for just _Bones_ and hit send before the wine could talk me into trying for a twenty-eighth e-mail. I just pray that Booth's email address hasn't changed.

Six hours later, my blackberry vibrates signaling I have an e-mail. It is from Booth.

_Dear Bones,_

_What a surprise to hear from you. I figured some anthropological group was holding you hostage in the Maluk-poo-poo Islands or somewhere else far away and you were up to your armpits in ancient skeletons again._

_In answer to your questions, I guess I am "fine." But you're right. My life is not normal. It won't be again for a long time. I'm still getting used to everything. The FBI assigned me to desk duty for two months and I had to see Sweets twice a week. They wanted to make sure I was adjusting to being a widower._

_I wanted so badly to tell them there was no way you "adjust" to this. You simply learn to cope. For once, Sweets had my back. The kid showed amazing empathy. I'm finally back to working active cases and I heard through the grapevine that I may be up for a promotion. And you know that's not an actual grapevine, right Bones? It means rumors. _

_I hope you're okay, wherever it is you're at. Remember to eat and get enough sleep. And write back when you have a chance. It's always good hearing from you._

_Yours, _

_Booth_

Three days later I respond. And then he writes back. Over a period of three months, we manage to exchange emails at least twice a week. I write about how boring the book tour is.

_It's not that I don't appreciate my readers. I do. I just still find it difficult to make small talk. I don't mind sitting and signing books. I can do that for hours. But I still struggle with what to say. I remain petrified that I'm going to say the wrong thing and make everything awkward and embarrass my publisher._

To my delight, Booth counters with news about Parker and how mature he's getting. He's a junior and is actively applying to colleges. Booth believes that a soccer or hockey scholarship may be in the works. And they both appreciate the fact that I've offered to write letters of recommendation.

_Thanks, Bones. It means the world to me and Parks that you're willing to do that. And I know that your opinion will go along way in helping him get accepted wherever he decides to go._

_Don't worry about the tour. I'm sure you're doing a great job and that you're not embarrassing anyone. You've come a long way, Bones. You're much more socially aware than you were ten years ago. Just relax and be yourself. You do that and they're sure to love you. _

Sometimes his emails were far more serious and tinged around the edges with a bitterness I had only recognized in Booth once – that long ago night when I refused to give us a chance. These are the emails that worry me the most. I know, despite the fact that Booth did everything in his power to get Jill any help that she needed, and that he looked long and hard for a cure, he still carries guilt over his wife's death. I know that he doubts he did everything he could for her.

_I miss her, you know? Coming home to an empty house is a real bitch. Waking up in an empty bed isn't much better. And all the time, you're dealing with the "what ifs." What if we had tried this treatment, and what if we didn't do that and what if we had gone to this doctor…would it have even mattered? Would it have bought Jill her health or just a few more agonizing months of pain? You know, the last couple of months she lingered, she didn't even know who I was. I know that wasn't her fault, but it hurt. I wanted so badly to say good-bye the right way, and I was robbed of that._

It takes me two days to answer him because every time I try I end up too emotional to be coherent or logical. The rational thing would be to assure him that his feelings are a normal part of the grieving process. But the irrational, protective side of me just wants to hug him and tell him everything will be alright – eventually. But there's still distance between us, both physically and emotionally. And I find myself loathe to close the mileage just yet, even though my metaphorical heart still breaks for him.

_Booth~_

_For once I don't know what to say. I am so sorry you have to go through this. I could tell you that everything you're feeling is normal, even healthy, since it is a way to work through the grieving process._

_But I'm sure Sweets and countless others have already told you these facts. _

_So what I will tell you is that, if you need to talk and you need someone to listen – someone who won't judge you and knows you pretty well – then I'm willing to listen. _

My email signals a change between us. In some ways this shift is for the better. In other ways, it simply hurts because for the first time since that long-ago night when I refused him, Seeley Booth starts asking me the hard questions.

**Okay, I lied. I know I told some of you that chapter six would be it, followed by an epilogue, but when I started writing this chapter it took on a life of its own and just got too long. So…at least one more chapter is coming and then the epilogue. Hope that doesn't upset anyone.**


	7. Chemistry

**Chemistry**

Present

Chapter Seven

The bitterness lingers in Booth's emails for awhile, but soon gives way to anger. Anger directed at the cancer that took Jill away far too early in her life.

Anger at me, too.

Part of me is surprised at that. Part of me has expected it. I want to run away from it and embrace it at the same time.

_I loved her, you know. I did. Not the same way I loved you…but it was something that could have lasted twenty, thirty, or fifty years…_

He will never know how hard it was for me to answer that email. I didn't know what to say. I know my feelings for him have never changed. Not really. But I had assumed that what Booth felt for Jill was real and genuine and superseded our one chance. Booth had told me everything happens eventually. Our eventually had passed. We missed our opportunity to let what we had catch fire and flame.

_Booth,_

_There is no doubt that you loved your wife and was the best possible husband to her. I know you. I know you could have been nothing less._

_What we had – what we felt – we were two different people then back then. Back before Afghanistan and Maluku. Before Jill and Tucker. Back when it was just Booth and Bones. We were so different then. Anything was possible. _

_But time has changed us, some for the better and some for the worse._

A week crawls by and he doesn't respond. I'm afraid I've said the wrong thing again and he's upset with me. I'm nearly at the point when I'm ready to e-mail him back, when my blackberry vibrates. It's another email and it's from Booth.

_Sorry for the delay. I got my promotion. Hacker's been moved upstairs and now I'm assistant deputy director. This moves me effectively out field work to behind a desk most of the time. Not sure how much I like it, but I'm not as young as I used to be and chasing the bad guys hurts more now._

_So I've been kind of busy and preoccupied with work._

_I miss Jill. Not as much as I did. I've stopped expecting to see her when I come home in the evenings. I'm almost used to sleeping by myself at night. You're right, things have changed. When I walk in the lab and see Angela and Hodgins, that's proof itself. Angela's looks like she's about ready to pop that baby out any minute now and Hodgins swears she's going to only work part time after this one is born. They've got their own little family unit and it's great to see. _

_We've changed, too. I know that. But some things don't change, Bones. Just keep that in mind._

My emotions go on a rollercoaster ride after that. Of all the things that haven't changed, Booth is at the top of the list. For so many years I tried to compartmentalize the man and then compartmentalize my feelings for the man, only to find that both the man and my emotions for him were too big and too complex to put in any box. This is just who Booth is – a good man who is larger than life.

And this is what I am still afraid of. That shiny, new part of me that had gone out into the world to try to find my someone else had failed. I still had that open heart. That hadn't gone away. But instead of wandering all over the world I should have stayed in DC and fought for what I wanted. However, I simply put up a white flag and caved instead of standing my ground. I had been willing to settle for second best instead of facing the struggle and working for what I wanted.

I had been too scared. I was a coward. Instead of embracing what I felt and telling Booth the truth, I had failed both him and myself. And I didn't know if there was any redemption for me in the future.

_Dear Booth, _ I finally write….

_Congratulations on the promotion! You more than deserve it. And I hope a hefty raise in pay accompanies it. _

_I don't think I'll be able to make it back in town when the next Hodgins baby decides to make his or her appearance. I'm finally in __Khirbet Qeiyafa. There's about another three to six months of work to be done. After that, I will come back to DC to coo over my new godchild and be there for the christening. I understand you're reprising your role as godparent, too. We should be getting good at this by now._

It was less than ten minutes when I got a reply

_Khirbet Qeiyafa? My God, Bones. BE CAREFUL. Please. I just started a new position. I don't think the FBI would give me time off right now to come and rescue you if you get in trouble :) _

_Just kidding. I'm sure the dig site is secure and that you are safe. But like I said before, some things don't change and my worrying about you is one of them. Case work is another. I still have more cases to deal with than I possibly can, and while Clark is great, he's not you. I miss working with you._

And our emails continue. Now they're up to at least once a day. Sometimes more. Booth tells me about work and Parker and that he's sold the house and moved back into an apartment because he didn't need all that space for just him. I tell him about my dig and the finds and the occasional fight our surrounding neighbors get into.

For two months, I live for his emails. And then one Wednesday, after dinner, my phone rings. I don't recognize the number, but it's a DC area code. "Brennan," I answer automatically, thinking that Jack has called me from the hospital and Angie's had the baby.

"Bones…"

My stomach does metaphorical flip flops and I find I have to sit down because my knees have suddenly decided not to work anymore.

This time Booth calls to tell me that Angela has indeed had her daughter. We don't talk long. He just gives me the specifics. Eight hours of labor. Her name is Meredith Joy. Merry is 16 inches long and weighs barely seven pounds. And she had her father's curly hair.

We both rejoice over our new goddaughter and he tells me to take care of myself before he says good-bye. And I really believe he won't call again. Emails have worked well for us. But next Wednesday, right after dinner, he calls again. We talk about Parker and Booth's new job and my new discoveries at Khirbet Qeiyafa. And once more he tells me to be careful before he says goodbye.

The next Wednesday I find myself hurrying through dinner to get to the privacy of my tent before the phone rings again – which it does and it's Booth. I try to calm my flip-flopping stomach down with deep breaths as he tells me about his day and his new secretary.

"She's so young, Bones. So young and so…inexperienced. You can smell the new on her."

"New?"

"You know. When a person is so green at something you feel like you need to sit them in the sun to ripen?"

"I don't know what…"

I hear him chuckle. I guess this another one of those things that haven't changed – me not understanding colloquial references. But I feel a great sense of pride in making him laugh.

"She's just as new at this as we used to be, Bones."

I sigh. "That was a long time ago, Booth."

I can hear him shrug. "Nah. Not that long ago, Bones. It just seems that way."

* * *

Booth continues to call me on Wednesdays for the next several weeks. Then he adds Fridays to our call dates. And then Saturdays and sometimes Sundays, because, he tells me, "My cell phone plan has free weekend minutes anywhere in the world. So it only makes sense to take advantage of it. It would be a shame to waste those minutes."

I whole-heartedly agree with him. It would be sin to waste those minutes. I had wasted enough time already. I find myself holding my breath every time my phone rings.

So we talk – about everything and anything and sometimes nothing at all. We talk about Gorgaman and Zach. We talk about Heather Taffett and discover that we both still have nightmares.

It takes another month for us to talk about us.

"Why didn't it work out for us?" he finally asks me in a quiet voice. I can't tell if he's scared to hear my answer or if he's just tired. It's late on a Friday and I know it's been a difficult week for him.

And it would be easy for me to answer him with an "I don't know," or "You brought Jill home with you," but we both know those aren't the real reasons. If I don't owe the man anything else, I owe him honesty.

"It was me, Booth."

There is silence and I know he's waiting for me to continue.

"It was me. I was petrified of loving you." I hear a quick intake of breath and I know he's about to interrupt me, but I have got to continue. Got to. If I stop now, I may not be able to get through this again.

"Not petrified _of_ you, but scared of loving you. I didn't know how. You're such an open person, who loves easily and deeply and I just wasn't. I didn't think I could be what you needed and I was afraid that when you found out I couldn't love you the way you needed to be loved, you'd walk out of my life, just like almost everyone else has. And I couldn't bear that."

He was quiet for a moment. "So you decided to walk out of my life instead?" The bitterness was back in his voice and I froze. Once again I have messed things up. I can't say the right thing to save my life.

And then it hit me. I didn't go to the Maluku Islands in order to walk out of his life first. I thought I had left to gain objectivity. But that wasn't it either. I left to learn about me. To see if I could learn to let down all the walls and love someone completely.

"No," I finally reply, my voice quiet and resolute. "I left to do research…and to discover just how I felt about you…and us. I needed time."

"Did it work?"

"Yes."

I hear sharp intake of breath. "When you came back…that day…at the coffee cart…you never said anything…"

"There was Jill." It was said quietly and without animosity. I knew he had loved Jill. He had never tried to be deceptive to me or his wife in anyway. But once we got back, there had been such a rush for everyone to get settled and back into the routine of work and the habits of old times. And of course you can't discuss what you had with one woman in the presence of another woman you're in love with now.

"So you were ready then?" The bitterness is gone from Booth's voice. "But not before we left for that year apart?"

I don't say anything for a second. "Yes," I finally reply. "I couldn't before I left for the island, but I knew…I discovered while I was gone that I did love you. And I was going to tell you, but you had moved on, Booth. And I didn't want to mess anything up with you and Jill. She loved you. That was obvious from the first time I met her. And I watch you grow to love her."

I hear him swallow hard. "I _did_."

"I know." I sigh. "That's why I didn't stay in DC long. I didn't want to say or do anything that would hurt you. You were happy. I wanted that for you, even if it wasn't with me."

"I shouldn't have…" There's a crack in his voice and in my mind I can see him with his arm thrown across his eyes and his Adam's apple working hard to keep the emotions out of his voice. "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard after that session with Sweets. I shouldn't have dumped all that in your lap at once. I knew I would scare you off. I should have been patient. I should have waited…"

"For what? It was what you felt and you had been dealing with it for a long time. I don't blame you or Jill for anything Booth. What has happened is in the past and we can't change it."

In chemistry, you learn the fine art of balancing equations. No matter what elements or molecules you combine, you come out with the same number of elements and compounds on the other side of the equation. They may be altered…changed…due to heat or complete combustion, but if you start with six oxygen molecules, no matter what you do, on the other side of the equation, you're going to end up with six oxygen molecules. They may be altered. They may have combined with other elements, but that oxygen is still there.

I figure that's what has happened to Booth and me. On the other side of everything that has happened to us, we're still us. We're still Booth and Bones. But we've changed. He knows it and I know it.

And I find comfort in knowing that despite all the changes, we have come out on the other side of this as friends – what we were in the beginning.

What we will be until the end.

That's what we agreed to after our talk about "us." I find it difficult to swallow the fact that I will simply remain his friend. I had hoped that he would continue to find happiness after he had grieved Jill and a very selfish part of me hoped that happiness would be found in me. But this was not meant to be.

So for the remaining two months in Khirbet Qeiyafa, we continue to talk about everything and anything and nothing at all, rediscovering what our friendship is on the basis of what was. And it's going well. I find myself looking forward to returning to Washington, this time to stay longer than a few weeks. Booth and I don't email each other any longer, as we talk via cell and satellite phone.

And that is why, when I get an email from him on the Wednesday afternoon before I leave instead of a call, I feel anxious. I hurriedly click it on to open it. It contains one word:

"Coffee?"


	8. Full Bloom

**Sorry this has taken awhile to get up on the fanfiction site. I really tried to work through this chapter before I left for the beach, but it didn't happen. Then when I got back, there was this kidney stone thing and my daughter's getting married September 18 (points to those who can pick up that reference in this story) and I was hit with a multitude of tasks that have to wait until almost the last minute to complete. So needless to say, life got in the way of my fiction. This chapter is shorter than normal, but it sums the story up quite nicely – at least I think so anyway. Enjoy!**

**Full Bloom**

Chapter Eight

I can't get back to DC fast enough. A flight to London, then to New York and finally into Dulles takes more hours than I care to spend hermetically sealed in a metal tube and shot across the sky. I spend my time trying to read my anthropology journals but don't comprehend a word. When I try to re-read the same article for the third time, I finally give up and ponder what Booth means by "Coffee?"

Part of me hopes, quite selfishly, that he means to pick up where we left off back in 2010. But the rational, logical part of me realizes that we can't. We're different people now. Life experiences have changed us. People have changed us.

Time has changed us.

So how is he going to define "Coffee?"

Is it going to be straight-up black? All business with the kind of partnership we had before that night at the Hoover Building? The kind of relationship where we're partners and best friends, but the midnight runs of Thai food and paperwork ends with either him sleeping in my couch or a friendly good night at the door?

Or is it going to be cream-and-sugar laced? The kind of relationship that is sweet and caring? A bit more than friendship but just shy of what we both wanted all those years ago?

Or is it going to be more like chai tea? Sweet and spicy? The best of both worlds? All the sweetness either one of us wants but with a bite of passion that keeps a healthy lust alive in a relationship?

I sigh and shut my eyes. I won't be able to figure it out until I see him. _Friends_, my conscience whispers to me. _You and he both agreed to be friends. Don't read anymore into it than that. Accept the fact – graciously – that the man still wants your friendship._

The plane banks and lands. I impatiently wait for my luggage and then take a cab to the National Mall.

There are some moments in life you know go by in slow motion. This is one of them.

The cab ride takes forever and we seem to hit every red light between Dulles and the National Mall. When we finally get there, I collect my pull-behind bag from the back of the taxi, shove some bills into the driver's hands, murmur a thank-you-and-keep-the-change and begin to make my way down the sidewalk, dodging tourists and DC residents and all the while just wishing everyone would just get out of my way. Impatience rises to a level in me that I have never experienced before.

It doubles when I don't immediately see him at the coffee stand. What if he's changed his mind? What if there's more than one coffee cart now? What if I've picked the wrong one? I find myself teetering on the threshold of full-blown panic – and Temperance Brennan doesn't panic.

And that's when I hear him.

"Bones…"

One word. One word is all it takes to make my panic subside and my impatience melt away as I turn to see _him_. He still has the gray at his temples, his face shows a few more worry lines, but his eyes…his eyes are still that same knee-buckling chocolate brown and his shoulders are still just as broad, and when he pulls me into one of his hugs, he still smells like home.

I realize have seriously underestimated how much I have missed this man.

"Booth…" I begin, only to be cut off as his hands cup my face and he closely examines me. I know I'm tanned. My hair is still shorter than it's been in the past. But for the life of me I know that my appearance is not what the man is looking at. Booth's looking past all of that straight into my heart and soul and I hope that he can see that I'm not the same woman I was years ago when I refused him outside the Hoover Building. I hope that now he can see that shiny, new part of me that is open and wants to love him like he deserves to be loved.

Like I want to love him. I can only hope that it's not too late.

"I've missed you, Bones."

"I've missed you, too, Booth." My voice sounds tiny, even to my ears. But I'm finding it's difficult to talk around the lump in my throat that has developed under his close scrutiny. His forehead lowers to touch mine and his eyes close and just for the moment we breathe each other in. My hands automatically find his, silently pleading for him to keep touching me.

"Don't leave again. Please." he requests softly, his eyes still closed.

"I won't. I'll stay as long as you want me."

His eyes open and for a long moment he examines me again. I hope my face has the same conviction written on it that my heart does. And he smiles. A full-on charm smile that reaches his eyes and my knees buckle just a bit. Just like they always have when he smiles at me that way.

"Then that's going to be for a long time, Bones." He reaches for my luggage with one hand and my hand with his other hand and pulls me over to the coffee cart. Looks like I'm finally going to get that cup of coffee that he promised me so long ago. He places the order and my mind flies back to the first time we were here. So much has happened and I can't help but reflect on what it has taken us to get to this point.

Afghanistan. Maluku. Jill. Gaylord Tucker. Professional gain. Personal loss. So much has happened to change us, but yet in so many ways we have remained the same. And as Booth hands me my coffee with soymilk, I notice something else.

The cherry trees are in full bloom.


End file.
